I'll Follow You Into The Dark
by Tarafina
Summary: "If you catch me, I'll tell you a secret…" she whispers at his ear, close enough that her lips tickle. "It starts with 'I love' and it ends with 'you.'"


**Title**: love of mine, some day you will die (but I'll be close behind, I'll follow you into the dark)  
**Category**: The Vampire Diaries  
**Genre**: Angst/Romance  
**Rating**: T/PG-13  
**Ship**: Stefan/Caroline  
**Prompt**: Can you write a steroline fic where she dies and he can't live without her? – anonymous (Tumblr)  
**Warning(s)**: Major Character Death, Suicide  
**Word** **Count**: 2, 076  
**Summary**: "If you catch me, I'll tell you a secret…_" _she whispers at his ear, close enough that her lips tickle. "It starts with 'I love' and it ends with 'you.'"

**_love of mine, some day you will die (but I'll be close behind, I'll follow you into the dark)_**  
-1/1-

It's hard to look at her.

It shouldn't be, because after everything, after who she looks like, he's always been able to separate her from the worst parts of his life. But now, when he sees her face, he sees death. He sees blonde hair tipped with red. He sees flawless white skin turned ashy grey.

He looks at Elena and he can still feel Caroline's fingers clutching his, her voice a scared whimper of his name.

It's not Elena's fault. He tells himself this every day.

It's Caroline's maybe. Katherine's, definitely.

Katherine went for the kill and Caroline got in the way, like she always did, because she cared. Too much. Always too much.

Even Katherine seemed surprised when the stake went through the wrong chest, pierced the wrong heart. Maybe it was because somebody cared enough to save Elena when they wouldn't have for Katherine. Or maybe, in that moment, she witnessed the same light in Caroline that the rest of them had; a light that faded and fled at her hands.

Somehow, in that moment, time had sped up and slowed down and froze all at once. Damon had Katherine; he was pulling her away.

Caroline dropped to the ground, but Stefan was there; he caught her. He pulled the stake from her chest, dripping red, and threw it away. He cradled her as she took breaths she didn't need, as she stared up at him with tears blinding her blue eyes. And he saw it there; not regret at saving Elena, but fear for what it meant. She gripped his hand, hers slippery with her own blood, and she said his name in a way that made him want to tear his own unstaked heart out and give it to her. His hand shook as he touched her face, as a tear dribbled down her cheek, quickly changing from baby soft and flushed with pink to grey and cracked and lifeless.

He'd promised he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

It was all he could think; it was on repeat in his head.

He _failed failed failed._

He didn't know what happened to Katherine after that; didn't know if she got away or if Damon killed her or if Elena managed to get revenge for the attack or her fallen friend. He sat on the floor, holding his best friend, his eyes swimming in a blur of hot, stinging tears.

The ends of her hair were stuck to her wound, drenched in blood, sticky and stuck together. He combed his fingers through them; she was so meticulous about her hair. Caroline liked to be perfect. Her clothes, her make-up, her sunshiny smile always in place. So much of her was broken on the inside; a world of contradictions. But she always tried so hard to be okay, to look okay, to be perfect.

She didn't look perfect then. Her make-up had smudged from her tears and her favorite blouse was torn up and her skin… Her skin was so beautiful before. Now it was riddled with veins, her lips were blue, like all the air, all the life had been sucked right out of her.

He was in a daze after that.

Damon knelt beside him, uncharacteristically solemn, and carefully tried to pry Caroline from his arms.

"You need to let go, Stefan," Elena's soft voice told him, subdued and heavy with emotion.

"I promised," he murmured, stroking Caroline's hair from her face. His eyes searched her face, willing her to open her eyes, to offer him that tired smile and tell him she was fine, it was okay, call off the funeral. But she didn't and each time he blinked, a fresh flow of tears escaped silently.

Damon squeezed his shoulder and Stefan finally raised his head to look at him. He swallowed tightly, not sure what to say, and finally shook his head. "I'll take care of her," he assured.

Stefan wondered if it was the first time Damon had said 'take care of' and didn't mean 'kill.' His grip loosened though and he let her be lifted from his lap, her hair hanging over his arm, bloody and drying and _wrong_. He couldn't watch her be carried away. He stood, followed despite Elena pulling at his arm, encouraging him to stay, not to watch.

He shook her off and joined Damon in digging the grave until he was panting and covered in dirt and his face was still wet with tears. And he picked Caroline's body up, limp and cold, and he laid her on the ground at the bottom of the hole. He fixed her hair so it lay perfect on either side of her face. He rubbed his fingers under her eyes to fix her make-up but feared he only smudged it with dirt. And finally, he climbed out, staring down.

"Last words?" Damon wondered, his voice seeming so loud in the quiet.

They stood there, silent, no pressure to hurry.

Until finally he whispered, "I'm sorry I failed you."

Before Damon could reply, he was gone.

.

.

.

He keeps to his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, letting the sun play over his skin. And he remembers her, when he convinced Bonnie to make her ring; the way she reached out toward the sun and her face lit up. How she smiled at him excitedly while all he could do was mourn that she even _had _to be excited; that her humanity had been taken from her by Katherine. And now she'd finished what she'd started, taking every last inch of life from Caroline that was left.

His days are scattered. He hardly moves, letting the sun rise and fall, the night creep in and envelop every corner. When it's at its darkest, he thinks he can feel her presence around him. He thinks, if he tries hard enough, he can hear her voice.

_Always lookin' out for me._

He tries to tell her, tries to apologize, for all the ways he didn't. He begs for forgiveness in a cold, empty room, to a girl who can't hear him. A girl he will never see again or hear or hold. A girl who always believed in him, supported him, stood by him.

He hears Elena crying at night and he hears Damon soothing her. It doesn't hurt like it once did, the idea that she loves his brother and not him. It pales in comparison to what he's feeling now. He wonders if, years later, after he'd gotten over Elena, if Caroline were still alive, would his affections for her have changed, grown? He thinks they would have. He thinks they already were. She was a constant companion; a balm on all that hurt. And the memory of her smile makes his chest ache in a way that he's sure would kill a human.

.

.

.

Some days, he knows Elena is there. She stands in the doorway, watching him, checking on him. Occasionally, she even ventures closer, carefully quiet. She brings him blood sometimes. Or books. She sits on the end of his bed and she tries to share stories about Caroline from when they were younger, when they were children. Instead of helping, they hurt.

Her voice hurts.

It's deeper, throatier than Caroline's was.

Her laugh's not the same, the way she speaks, even how she sits. She doesn't make flailing arm gestures or get as dramatic as Caroline did.

He starts to hate Elena for nothing she's really done.

He hates that she lives and Caroline doesn't.

He hates that she speaks and laughs and tries to make him feel better when Caroline can't.

He hates that she cares and worries and wants him to be okay, when all he wants is for Caroline to be there. To laugh and pretend it was no big deal and sweep it under the rug with everything else that's happened; everything else that hurt her and he can't fix.

He hates that Caroline acted the martyr and got in the way and he tells her this.

He's angry and sad and he wants his best friend back, so one day, he spits it at Elena, "It should've been _you_," through stinging tears and clenched teeth, fangs out and eyes black with blood.

She stares at him, stricken, and nods as a sob escapes her chest. "_I know_."

He hates that he doesn't hate her then. Because she loved Caroline and Caroline loved her.

And he loved Caroline. He loved her fiercely. Perhaps more than he ever knew. He thinks he could've spent the whole of his undead life with her at his side, pushing him to smile more and brood less and "Quit with the serious face, okay? I know there's a smile in there somewhere and you don't want to know the lengths I'll go to in order to find it."

.

.

.

There's too much death in his life, he decides.

There's too much everything.

Elena stops visiting and he can't blame her.

Damon starts and he wishes he wouldn't.

He knows the reason he's there at first is because he's upset with him for saying what he did to Elena. He wants to be mad at Stefan; he wants to rip him apart for hurting her feelings. Instead he gets him drunk; he gets himself even drunker. And then he swirls his near empty bottle as he sits in a chair, playing with the cover of one of Stefan's many books.

"She was a good one, y'know? And I knew that…" He rolled his eyes, brows raised. "I knew that and I ruined her… I hurt her. I—I treated her like crap."

Stefan merely stared at him.

"I didn't—I don't apologize." He shook his head. "You know that. I don't… I—I can't. And now she's… And I never… And you're just…" He waved his hands, as if all of his sentences had been logical and finished and Stefan knows. He understands his brother. "And _Elena_… She's…" He blew out a breath. "I can't fix it. I can't. I can't put you back… together." He knotted his fingers and tugs on them. "You're broken. _Again_."

Eventually, Damon passes out, with a long string of 'I can't's' spilling from his lips, which only sound like 'I'm sorry's' from where Stefan's sitting.

.

.

.

It's a month after she dies when he decides he's done.

It's also the first time he leaves his room.

He leaves his ring on the center of the bed before he walks out. He pauses in the parlor, staring at where she laid. There's no blood on the floor; the carpet's been replaced.

He makes his way to where she's buried and finds that the dirt still hasn't settled completely. He lays himself down on top of the mound and he draws things with his finger in the soft earth. But there are some things he can't capture in a drawing; like her laughter or her smile or the warm feeling he got when she was around, like he was safe and accepted. So he lays and he waits and he wonders if when he dies this time it will be different. If he will see her on the other side. If he will see his mother or his father or the many victims that fell under his hand. He wonders if there is forgiveness after death or if there is only nothingness. And he decides that nothing is better than this empty ache.

When the sun rises, his hands fist in the dirt. The fire starts; it ripples up his clothes and burns at his skin, eating away at him. And he gasps, his eyes wide, his face buried in the dirt, and he thinks, for just a moment, as the flames lick and burst and consume him, that he hears his heart come to life, just long enough for one last thump against his ribcage before it dies with him.

.

.

.

Later, when Damon finds the ring, he knows where to look.

There is nothing but charred, black ashes littering the top of the brown mound of dirt, some scattering on the wind as it passes through.

He digs a hole in the center and he puts Stefan's ring in it; then he covers it with a mix of dirt and ash. When he steps back, his jaw ticks painfully tight.

"Brother," is all he says, and he hopes it encompasses it all.

All of the unsaid apologies and the regrets and the empty hope that he found peace somewhere in death. That he found Caroline on the other side and somehow it was worth it.

.

.

.

_"_Took you long enough," she scoffs, twirling in front of him as if she has all the time in the world and nowhere she needs to be.

Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is pale and white and flawless. Her hair dances as she moves, swinging, blonde, beautiful.

_"_Was I late?" he wonders, offering a half-grin and a raised eyebrow.

_"_Only by a hundred and fifty years, give or take," she tells him, her eyes wide for emphasis. She stops, walks to him, and gives his jacket a tug. "But it's_ fine…"_ she sighs dramatically._ "_Because if you weren't late you wouldn't have met _me_ and _that_ would've been the real tragedy."

He laughs under his breath and reaches for her, hands cupping her sweet face, thumbs stroking her cheeks. He swallows tightly and sighs as she leans into his touch. "I missed you," he murmurs, staring into her eyes.

Her smile fades into something softer, more genuine. "There's no missing me here." She shakes her head. "You can't get rid of me now!_" _She twirls out of his arms. "So what do you say, Salvatore? To an eternity with me…_"_

She throws her arms out as if to emphasize what is, for all that he can see, _nothing_. Until suddenly, it changes, and they are in a forest. The sun breaks through the boughs in filtered chunks and he's not sure he's ever seen leaves or grass so green, tree trunks so brown. The chirping of birds and the skittering of animal feet on the forest floor are melodic, calming.

_"_Think of all the bunnies," she teases.

And he laughs, for the first time in what feels like forever.

She dances toward him, giggling under her breath. "If you catch me, I'll tell you a secret…_" _she whispers at his ear, close enough that her lips tickle. "It starts with 'I love' and it ends with 'you.'"

She runs off into the trees, at human speed, barefoot and sweet and carefree. Her laughter echoes back to him and he can hear his heart beating hard with anticipation.

Stefan gives chase and he catches her and he shares his own secret back.

They are free and happy and together, and he thinks this was how it was meant to be all along. He forgets everything else, all the pain and the hurt, the victims and the survivors; he forgets everybody, including those still alive, the people he's left behind. They aren't even a distant memory. They are simply gone; he can't remember faces or names or stories.

There is only an endless forest, paradise, and Caroline at his side.

Stefan finds heaven in her smile and her laugh and the way she traces the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes as they lay in the grass with the sun falling on them, no rings in sight.

[**End**.]


End file.
